


under different skies

by gostorain



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Apartment AU, F/F, High School AU, Nude Model AU, Summer Camp AU, college rommates au, french cafe au, little exercises for my writing, lovestruck Lexa and cutiepie Clarke are my favorite really, send me more!, tumblr au prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-05 00:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4158498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gostorain/pseuds/gostorain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"In every universe, we are meant to be together."</p><p>or</p><p>the au prompt collection</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. nude model?

**Author's Note:**

> story title derived from Raleigh Ritchie's "Bloodsport" (damn good song for clexa, you should listen to it)
> 
> (also he's Greyworm on GOT so yeah)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke asks Lexa to be her model for a drawing. Lexa won't sit still and keeps trying to take her clothes off insisting that all of the painting that she has seen involve nude models.
> 
> (I took some creative liberties with this to make it an au.)

Lexa was nervous.

The butterflies buzzed and raved in her stomach, tickling her insides and sending random shocks up her spine and through to the tips of her fingers and toes. She checked her watch for the fifth time in the last few minutes - only seven minutes till Clarke was expected to walk into the studio. She stood tall from her makeshift seat against a table and shook out her hands, at least attempting to loosen up. She wiped her hands down the front of her jeans and ridiculed herself for the  _stupid_  goddamn nerves. This was nothing. 

This was something.

The stunning blonde with the sky for eyes, the girl that made her graceful feet trip and strong legs turn to jelly, Clarke who made Lexa turn into someone much less poised than she was practiced to be had asked for a favor. A small one in the art major’s eyes for it was just an assignment, but for the dancer, it was a monumental task.

To pose for a sketch.  _Nude_.

It wasn’t like she didn’t like her body or anything. There was no embarrassment. This was completely objective. A professional assignment, one that was asked for because Lexa was the principal performer of the university’s dance school, because the two girls were good acquaintances (despite Lexa’s best efforts), because they had exchanged slightly flirty small talk between classes when their paths crossed after Lexa had accidentally-on-purpose dropped her books right in front of Clarke. The Earth had spun for millions of years and it would keep spinning even after this debacle. And yet, Lexa couldn’t stop the heat from rising in her cheeks when she thought about standing naked in front of Clarke as she scrutinized every inch of her with her artist eyes.

She looked up suddenly at the sound of the door clicking open and shut. Clarke floated into the room without a sound, but to Lexa, she was a symphony of color and warmth and something just  _happy_. She saw the source of both her nerves and ooey-gooey feelings and the two emotions clashed and fought in an epic tug-of-war in her chest. But she refused to let it show in her face. 

Clarke saw Lexa and walked over, both hands holding a giant sketchbook against her stomach. She had her light hair up in a messy ponytail with a charcoal pencil stuck through the tie, leaving a streak of dark black against the waves of blonde strands. Grey chucks with leggings, a worn-out white tee, and a faded denim jacket. Lexa felt her heart clutch at the ease of her beauty. She was the embodiment of art and yet she was the one aspiring to create it.

“You’re early,” said Clarke with a small smile. Lexa offered an even smaller one of her own.

“I was a bit nervous, to be honest,” she confessed. The words fell out of her mouth before she could stop them. Clarke looked over to the single easel and gently set her sketchbook down. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and took a seat on the stool.

“There really is no need. You’re a natural,” Clarke encouraged.

“At existing? You’re the one who’s gonna do all the work.”

“At being pretty,” Clarke said, all too easily. Lexa felt the heat spread across her chest and up her neck. The blonde just laughed quietly at her response, inwardly in awe that the lithe, athletic beauty in front of her would be so blown away by the truth. She opened her book to a fresh page and creased the front so that it’d stay open while she worked. Pulling the charcoal out of her hair, she rubbed it gently against the edge of the easel, trying to sharpen it just a little for the initial outlining of the portrait.

“Why don’t you get yourself ready while I do the same?” Clarke said from behind the high wall of paper. Lexa just gulped and nodded. It was now or never.

She grasped the hem of her tank and pulled it swiftly over her head. She set it neatly on a table, immediately bending over to pull off her pants. She moved quickly and efficiently, determined to let the process of undressing overtake the immensity of her nerves. She had reached behind her to grasp the clasps of her bra when she heard a throat clear behind her.

“Ehm, I think I’d have to buy you dinner before you take this any further,” Clarke said, shakily. Lexa whipped around to see blushing cheeks and averted eyes that rivaled her own embarrassment. It took her a second to comprehend what Clarke had just said.

“Wait…but, you said… _,”_ Lexa trailed off. She stared at Clarke as the puzzled embarrassment transformed into realization.

"Oh my  _god_ , Lexa, oh no no, I would never ask you to do something like that, I mean we barely even know each other, oh god I should’ve been more clear, I’m so sorry,” Clarke rambled as she quickly turned around to save Lexa at least a little bit of dignity in the face of this epic misunderstanding. Lexa just stood there, attempted to take in the enormity of what had just happened.

Naturally, her reaction was to burst out laughing.

Clarke stared, confused and a little amused by the spectacle. The gorgeous, half-naked girl she had been crushing on for weeks was doubled over laughter. Lexa Trigeda had always been the image of serene, unflappable grace, so Clarke wasn’t really sure how to take this version of the perfect dancer. Lexa eventually faded back into sanity and turned to face Clarke with blushing cheeks.

"I am so sorry. I’m an idiot,” Lexa said as she grabbed her shirt and pulled it over her head. 

“It’s just, you said the words ‘portrait’ and ‘slightly intimate’ and ‘honest body image’ and I don’t know, I guess this was the first thing that popped into my mind,” Lexa tried to explain.  _Something about being around you makes my ears and brain and tongue stop working properly_ , thought Lexa as she tried not to trip over the tight legs of her pants. It wasn’t until she looked up that she realized she had said that last thing out loud. Clarke had a goofy smirk on her face that made Lexa want to try her hand at drawing just so she could attempt to capture the beauty that was this Clarke Griffin smile. The blonde finally looked down at her own charcoal-smudged hands and took a small breath.

“Why don’t we try this again? Fix the process a bit. Dinner first. Then the sketch. Y’know, just to make sure we do it right this time,” she offered. Lexa’s heart skipped a beat at the question and she thanked whatever gods and forces out there led her to this exact moment in time, even with the mortifying embarrassment and all.

“I’d like that.”


	2. commander fearleader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> modern clexa au where Lexa is the captain of the cheerleaders and Clarke is the president of the class and they hate/love each other

“Uh oh, incoming.” 

Clarke looked up at Octavia’s warning. Following her line of sight, she spotted Lexa Woods gliding down the hall, headed straight for her.

At the sound of Octavia shutting her locker, Clarke’s head snapped back to her friend.

“I think you can handle Commander Fearleader on your own,” she said, patting Clarke on the arm. "I gotta get to practice. I ordered the freshmen to fill up the soccer balls and I need to make sure they don’t pop half of them like last time."

“Thanks, O. I hate you.”

“You don’t, but it’s okay. Text me later as confirmation of survival. She looks really fucking mad,” Octavia said with a laugh. She blew Clarke a kiss and hightailed it the opposite direction down the hallway.

Clarke knew exactly why Woods was on a warpath.

She had posted the extra-curricular schedule on the school bulletin just that afternoon, which included how field times would be distributed throughout the week.

The Park Central Grounder cheerleaders had gotten the raw end of the deal, which was kind of on Clarke, but she wasn’t about to admit that to the girl who was quickly making her way towards her. 

Clarke faced her locker, organizing books and papers as Lexa arrived at her side.

“Griffin.”

“Woods.”

“I’m sure you know why I’m here to speak with you.”

“I have a pretty good idea.”

“Then there’s no need to waste time. Change the schedule.” Clarke finally turned to look at her. 

Of course Woods looked flawless, even after having morning practice and a full day at school. Makeup understated but perfect, hair in an immaculate ponytail, her little uniform spotless.

Clarke grieved for how she looked. Hair in a messy bun (she didn’t have a chance to wash it last night after a board meeting till 9 and that stupid history paper that she hadn't started), little to no makeup (she’d probably rubbed it all off by now), a loose t-shirt sitting on her shoulders.

Clarke hated her. No one should be that perfect.

“There isn’t much I can do,” Clarke said. Lexa all but growled in her face. Her reputation for scaring people out of the way was not misplaced.

“What the hell are you talking about? You’re student body dictator, aren’t you?”

Clarke glared at her. Lexa rolled her eyes and continued, putting an exasperated hand on the locker next to the blonde’s.

“Just kick the marching band losers and the meatheads on the football team off a little earlier. And the girl’s soccer team doesn’t need to practice every day after school, for fuck’s sake. They are _awful_.”

At that, Clarke froze for a moment, then continued unpacking.

“You’re talking to the best friend of the captain of that awful team, Woods. Tread lightly.” 

Lexa didn’t even pause to apologize.

"We didn’t win Nationals last year practicing on Mondays and Fridays for just an hour, Griffin. Give my squad more time or so help me, I’ll set fire to the field so no one gets it.” Lexa’s glare was meant to burn, belittle, break people down to make them easy to step over. 

Clarke was having none of it though.

She dealt with administrators and various adults who believed themselves to be in positions of power on a daily basis. She could deal with Lexa Woods, fear-leader extraordinaire. She sighed.

“Threats won’t help you, _Commander_. I’m doing the best I can,” she said, putting her books in her locker and grabbing her bag. She shut it loudly and started down the now empty hallway. Lexa followed her.

“It’s not good enough. Your priorities obviously aren’t in order.” 

At that, Clarke whipped around. Her patience was wearing thin (after 2 straight weeks of community board meetings where everyone over the age of 18 was telling her she wasn’t doing a good enough job or _didn’t have her priorities in order_ ) and this was just the icing on the fucking graduation cake.

“LOOK, Lexa, I’m sorry, but your squad isn’t number one on my list,” Clarke said, her tone growing more and more exasperated. "I have budget meetings and class sizing and student complaints and teachers breathing down my neck to worry about, so yes, I don’t really care about your squad.”

Her voice started to shake as weeks of stress began climbing up her throat, threatening to spill out from her eyes. She closed them, bringing a hand up to rub her forehead. Lexa remained silent.

"I know I’m head of the extra-curricular scheduling council, but _for the love of god_ , Woods, please climb off my back. I can’t do much now, not with so many people wanting the same thing.” She looked back up at the girl in front of her, eyes defiant and ready for a fight.

She was met with a small smirk instead. 

“Didn’t know you had that in you, Griffin.”

With a mysterious look, Lexa shouldered her bag and walked past Clarke, tossing a few light words over her shoulder.

“We’ll talk more later, princess.”

The soft squeak of her sneakers echoed from the walls until the click of the metal doors announced her exit.

Clarke was left alone in the hallway, very much confused.

//

The next morning, a cup of steaming hot chocolate and a warm muffin greeted her at her seat in first period.

Thoroughly puzzled (and honestly still half asleep), Clarke picked up the small note that sat under the muffin.

_Princess,_

_My first strategy didn’t work, so I figured I’d try something different. A little birdy told me you don’t drink coffee and shared the location of your seat in Kane’s 1st period. Enjoy your breakfast._

_We’ll talk later,_

_Commander_

The handwriting was small and neat. Clarke blushed deep and red.

//

“Woods.”

Lexa smirked a little at the sound of the voice, but carried on stretching.

She had spotted the blonde walking across the grass just a moment before, looking out of place with her backpack and pile of books tucked under her arm.

“I wasn’t aware you had PE third period, Griffin.” She breathed slowly as she raised herself to stand again and face her.

“You can’t expect to bribe me with breakfast.”

“Bribe? Why, that was just a friendly gift of food.”

Griffin glared at her. She had no idea how to take Lexa, and that’s just the way the brunette wanted it.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, Woods, but my hands are tied.”

Lexa contemplated for a moment, watching the girl in front of her for a few beats. She knotted her hands above her head and stretched to one side.

She remembered how exasperated and tired Clarke looked the day before. How instead of taking on that political lilt that used to grate on her ears, her voice sounded worn out and like any other 18 year old who was squeezed dry by all their responsibilities.

She remembered how the fury and fire in Clarke had surprised her, which wasn't easy to do with Lexa Woods.

Truth be told, she was impressed.

Something in her chest still buzzed when she thought about the blonde and their interaction the afternoon before. Lexa would usually label it as annoyance and disgust, but this was something completely different.

It was warmer. Confusing, really.

She breathed out on a three-count, avoiding the magnetic blue eyes.

“I got that from our talk yesterday. But duly noted, Griffin, no bribery.” She shot her a small smile. "I appreciate your visit.”

She stretched a little further, felt her shirt rise off her hip. She saw Griffin’s eyes flick down to the strip of skin.

She saw the intended blush rise on her cheeks, but was surprised to feel one burn on her own.

“Uh well, yeah. That’s all I wanted to say,” Clarke said, pulling her books closer to her.

Lexa nodded once in acknowledgement. She watched as Clarke turned on a heel and marched back towards the school, her signature bun casting waves of light across her hair.

“What the fuck was that?” Lexa stood suddenly at the question.

“What was what?”

“That,” Anya said with a vague wave of her hand. “Whatever that was with President Goody-Two-Shoes.”

“Don’t call her that.”

Lexa was probably more confused at her response than Anya was. Her friend gave her a weird glare, that thing she did with eyes that made Lexa feel like her soul was being poked and prodded.

Anya’s face switched suddenly, an all-knowing look that glittered above a smirk.

“Should I start calling you First Lady Lexa?”

“Shut up, Anya,” she said, stretching down to her feet to hide her burning cheeks.

“Will your inauguration be at prom? Does this mean I should go?” 

“Anya, I swear.”

“Or is this more of a Monica Lewinsky situation? Would you like to initiate sexual relations?”

“That’s it you’re off the team.”

“So it’s the first one. Yes ma'am, First Lady.”

//

Octavia was giving her weird looks and it was making it hard to digest her sandwich. She finally plopped her lunch down and turned to her friend.

“Alright, O, what is it?”

Octavia continued to munch on her chips, eyeing her best friend.

“What happened yesterday?”

“Nothing. It was a painfully normal Tuesday.”

Octavia’s eyes squinted a little more.

“Then why did Commander Bitch ask me about your breakfast habits and where you sit in first period?”

Clarke froze for a second, but she tried to play it off.

“Don’t call her that.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, that was something. That was definitely something.”

Clarke huffed, grabbing her sandwich again.

“She’s trying to bribe me into giving her squad more field time. It’s nothing.”

But Clarke knew it was something.

//

The cups of hot chocolate and muffins continued.

She and Lexa started saying hello to each other in the hallways.

Clarke enjoyed her mornings.

//

“Are we going to acknowledge the fact that the captain of the cheerleaders has been bringing you breakfast every morning for the past week?”

Clarke didn’t look up from her textbook.

“No, we are not.”

Octavia threw her head back in exasperation. She hated studying in the library, but this was her best friend’s hideaway when she was stressed so there was no avoiding it.

“Clarke, the frigid bitch purposely sought out me to ask for details about your life. To buy you a heartfelt, caring breakfast. That she has brought _everyday for the past week_ ,” Octavia whispered furiously.

“O, if you hate it so much, why don’t you go find her and tell her about it?” Clarke said nonchalantly as she scanned the pages for what seemed like the 20th time. She was not feeling nonchalant about the topic whatsoever, but anything she showed would only fuel Octavia more.

“I don’t hate it, Clarke. I’m just curious that’s all.” She fell silent, sneaking glances at her friend over her book.

Clarke sighed.

“I’ll talk to her, O.”

//

“Woods.”

Clarke was a vision of confidence as she approached Lexa. She sat alone at a bench outside during free period. 

“Hello, Clarke.”

At that, she faltered.

She’d never heard Lexa actually say her first name before.

“I-I uh, wanted to thank you for breakfast this week,” Clarke said, all awkward and standing and so _Clarke_ compared to elegant, perfect Lexa who sat with her tan legs crossed and her hands cradling a book in the sun. "I usually never eat in the mornings."

Lexa looked up at her, eyebrows raised and a small smile gracing her face.

“I was wondering how long it’d take for your good manners to take over.”

“I didn’t really know how to approach it.”

“I’m a human being, not a rabid dog.”

“I know, I know, but like, it’s…strange?”

At that, Lexa’s eyes steeled and she slammed her book shut.

“Strange that I’m capable of doing something nice?”

She pushed herself to stand abruptly but Clarke’s hand shot out to stop her.

“Wait, no, that’s not what I meant.”

Lexa didn’t look up. Clarke sat down next to her instead.

“It’s just. Don’t we hate each other?”

“I don’t hate you.” Lexa said plainly. Clarke’s eyes widened, but she continued to stare forward.

“I don’t hate your food.” Lexa went to stand again, but Clarke grabbed her hand.

“Wait, wait, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I have this awful habit of making jokes at the worst times,” Clarke apologized.

“You have awful timing, Clarke.” Lexa leaned back against the bench, relaxing with her eyes towards the sky.

Clarke was still holding Lexa's hand. She let it go and tangled her own in her lap.

“I do. I’m kinda bad with people.”

“That’s not what someone wants to hear from their president.”

“Good thing you didn’t vote for me then,” Clarke said with a laugh.

“Actually, I did.” Clarke looked at Lexa in surprise, but Lexa’s eyes didn’t meet hers.

They fell into silence. Muted chatter and far off birds peppered the quiet. Clarke fidgeted with words she wanted to say.

“Really though. Thank you for the breakfast. You didn’t have to.”

“No, I didn’t. But I wanted to.”

“So what does this mean?”

“We don’t hate each other. I voted for you. You like me in my uniform.”

Clarke immediately blushed and sputtered to defend herself, but Lexa continued.

“We can start with calling each other by our first names.”

She turned to face Clarke.

“Then maybe, if the names aren't too painful, you can return the favor with breakfast.”

They stared at each other. Lexa waiting for some sign to either retract her offer or continue this weird hope that had implanted itself just a week before.

Clarke faced the sky, eyes closed and up towards the sun.

“Alright, Lexa.” She tried the name out and was not surprised at all when it rolled off her tongue, sweet and soft.

Knowing Clarke wouldn’t see, Lexa made no attempt to hide her smile.


	3. fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> clarke being sick and lexa nursing her back to health

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short and sweet and a challenge to write under an hour

“Clarke.”

Lexa was answered with only a low grumble from under the duvet. She pulled the covers back slightly, spotting a mess of blonde hair lying on top of the pillow.

“Babe, you need to eat something. You’ve been sleeping for 12 hours,” Lexa whispered.

Clarke shifted, pulling the covers off her head and scrunching into a ball against her girlfriend’s leg.

She cracked her eyes open and Lexa felt her heart tug at how tired she looked.

“What-what time is it?” Clarke asked, her voice raspy.

“It’s 2 o’clock in the afternoon. I shut the blinds earlier so you could sleep.” Clarke groaned and dropped her head back on the pillow.

Lexa ran her hand across Clarke’s forehead, smoothing back her hair and feeling for a temperature.

She was burning up.

Clarke whispered against the harshness of her throat, and Lexa strained to hear her.

“What was that?”

“I have to go to work.” Lexa rolled her eyes.

“Clarke, I don’t think a hospital in this universe would let you within 100 yards of the front door.”

“I’m fine,” Clarke croaked.

“You’re kinda gross right now, Griffin.”

“You’re a meanie.” Lexa smiled at that and leaned forward to help Clarke sit up. She fluffed a pillow, setting it against the headboard, and made her lean back. Clarke groaned the whole time.

“Holy cow, I feel like shit.”

“Which is expected with a blazing fever and a nasty cold.”

“I have to go to work.”

“Soup first.” Lexa lifted a bowl of chicken noodle and set it in her hands. Clarke lifted it to her nose, but frowned.

“What?” Lexa asked. “Does it smell bad?” She worried that she somehow hadn’t followed the directions properly.

“No,” Clarke said. “It’s just, I can’t smell it. My nose is stuffed.” She rubbed her nose with the palm of one hand, sniffled like a child, and pouted. Lexa laughed at how cute she was despite, well, everything.

“A travesty, really, but I’m more concerned about you consuming some sort of food.”

Clarke lifted a spoonful to her mouth and swallowed, moaning as the hot soup soothed the sandpaper in her throat.

“Did you make this?”

“Eh, kind of.” Lexa didn’t mention that Octavia had dropped off a huge thermos of homemade soup earlier that morning with specific instructions on heating and serving.

Lexa watched her methodically eat from the bowl, eyes roaming her face. Clarke’s nose was red, her eyes tired, skin pale from fatigue.

And yet, she still made her heart skip stupidly with…well, whatever.

“I can’t figure out if I’m hot or cold,” Clarke murmured over her bowl. She was feeling more than a little woozy.

“Oh, I have something for that,” Lexa said, reaching for a different bowl on the bedside table. She pulled a cold towel out of some ice water and wrung it dry.

“Um, okay,” Lexa said, trying to recall the exact words she was told, “20 minute intervals with ice-cold towels, alternating between your forehead and the back of your neck to help the fever and chills.”

Checking that Clarke had finished her soup (the bowl was spotless), she took it from her hands and gently placed the folded towel on her forehead.

“You seem to have an appetite, so you should be okay. It shouldn’t be a stomach bug.”

Clarke smiled slightly and turned her head to Lexa, eyes opening just a crack.

“I didn’t know you’re a doctor, too.”

“I had a little help.”

“I have to go to work.”

“Sleep first.”

“They’ll think I flaked.”

“No person in their right mind would ever think Clarke Griffin is a flaker.”

Clarke grumbled, lips suddenly becoming too heavy and words becoming too hard. Lexa leaned in a rested a hand on top of the cold towel, sighing as she felt heat from Clarke’s forehead radiating through.

“I called in earlier. Told them you’d be out sick for at least a day or two.”

“You called into work for me?”

“I did. Rhonda says ‘listen to Lexa’ and sends her love. Now rest, Clarke. You need it.”

It had taken a little digging. She had to be routed through the main desk and a few of the office numbers and she knew she worked in oncology, but she didn’t know exactly who she worked under. Rhonda had picked up the phone for Clarke’s department though, thank god, and had spoken to Lexa for twenty minutes, giving detailed instructions on how to care for Clarke and telling her to make her sleep as much as possible for the next 24 hours.

Clarke settled back down into the bed, eyelids heavy with fatigue. Lexa pulled the covers up and tucked her in. She kissed her burning cheek and ran a hand over her hair. Her hands and eyes and the hot bowl of soup and the hour-long struggle on the phone and the stack of towels in ice whispered three words without Lexa having to say them.

Clarke fought to say them back before falling asleep.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

“I have to go to work.”

“Sleep first. 

 


	4. liquor memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really loved that high school clexa au could you write an university au where clarke’s roommate lexa is very annoying but one night anya brings her super drunk to their room and clarke has to take care of her and finds out about costia and they cuddle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eh, this is alright

Clarke was about to tear her hair out.

This medical theory paper she had been staring at for almost four hours was driving her absolutely insane. She had no idea how to tie any of her ideas together, let alone form a “coherent argument viable enough to present to any current medical board,” as her professor proclaimed in her annoying _better-than-thee_ accent.

She sighed and rested her head in her hands. She was so close to just giving up and texting Octavia about that party she had mentioned earlier.

As she rubbed her eyes and looked up at the pictures hanging above her desk in an attempt to regain her vision, she spotted the time on the clock.

It was fucking _2 in the morning_.

She groaned. Scratch the party, she was getting into bed.

Clarke stood and stretched her legs, a low moan erupting from her throat.

“Damn, no wonder Lexa never leaves this room.”

Clarke squeaked and whipped around at the sound of a voice in her room.

She saw a tall girl with dark makeup standing at the door with a mess of brown hair slumped over her shoulders. A smirk teased at the girl’s lips, eyeing Clarke from under long lashes.

“Um, can I help you?” Clarke said, finding her voice.

“Actually,” the girl said, stepping into the room, “you can. I believe this is your roommate.” She turned slightly to show Clarke the girl that was passed out on her back. Clarke took a closer look at the waves of brown hair and realized that it was, in fact, her roommate.

Lexa Woods, queen of ice-cold silences and matriarch of assholes everywhere.

“I’m Anya,” the girl said as she walked over to Lexa’s bed. “I’m on the lacrosse team with her. But more importantly, I’m The Friend.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow.

“ _The_ Friend? Capitalized?” Anya smiled. She set Lexa down gently over the covers and turned to Clarke.

“We both know Little Miss Lightweight here isn’t the type to make friends. You of all people would know that,” she said with a pointed look. “Ergo, I am The Friend. The only one she tells herself she needs.”

Clarke pursed her lips at the surprising show of honesty. She ran a hand through her hair, a habit of hers that shows when she felt uncomfortable.

“Well, I’m Clarke. ‘The Roommate’, I guess,” she said, quoting the air. Anya smirked again. (Or maybe it never left her lips.)

“I know who you are, sweetheart. Lexa wouldn’t shut up about you.”

Before Clarke could even process what she said, Anya straightened her jacket, fixed her hair and headed for the door.

“Take care of her for me, princess. I don’t think she’s ever been this wasted before.”

And with that, she made her exit, leaving Clarke standing in the middle of their tiny room.

She sighed, the late hours of the night getting to her. She was so unbelievably tired, but-

She turned to look at Lexa, who was laying haphazardly on top of her blankets.

It was looking like Clarke would have to be the bigger person. _As always_.

She had tried, really. She had tried to be friends with Lexa, be cool with her and have a good time because honestly, doesn’t everyone have the dream of being super close with their roommate?

Lexa had seemed nice enough in the beginning. She wasn’t too loud and didn’t touch Clarke’s things. She had been respectful and polite and tolerable.

But that was _it_.

Once Clarke had begun to establish some sort of relationship, with “ _hey Lexa, want to go to the movies” or “hey Lexa, want to go grab some dinner together”_ or “ _Lexa, can you quiz me for my biology exam,_ ” she had only been met with empty stares and cold replies.

_I’m busy, Clarke._

_I have other things to do, Clarke._

Clarke had given up on Lexa halfway through the semester. The time spent in her room was silent and uncomfortable—Lexa was always there and it wasn’t like Clarke had anywhere better to be. They had danced around each other, avoiding confrontation and eye contact on a steady schedule.

Until that afternoon.

Lexa had been sitting at her desk, typing away at an assignment that most likely wasn’t due for another two weeks.

Clarke had been sitting on her bed, flipping through a magazine (avoiding her homework) and had been humming lightly. She didn’t even realize she was doing it, honestly, but Lexa obviously had.

She had turned around, so suddenly that it made Clarke jump.

“Could you _please_ stop humming?” Lexa said with eyes cold as steel.

See, Clarke wouldn’t have gotten mad if Lexa had just asked her to stop. She would’ve thrown a quiet “sorry” and things would’ve been normal (or as normal as they had been).

But it was the heavy, sarcastic “ _please_ ” that had curled out of Lexa’s lips that spiked her blood pressure, made her furious for some strange reason.

Months of frustration and annoyance came exploding out of her.

“ _What_ ,” Clarke said as she slammed her magazine closed and threw it to her side, “is your deal?”

Lexa looked surprised at her outburst. But Clarke had no intention of stopping.

“I have done nothing but try to be nice. I have made an effort to be a decent human being and be at least acquaintances with you, and yet you have no desire to be anything but a stone cold _bitch_.”

Clarke tried to tell herself she didn’t see Lexa flinch at the word.

Lexa had stood abruptly from her desk, slamming her laptop shut.

“I’ll make sure to stay out of your way then,” she said in a voice Clarke had never heard before—something laden with both anger and sadness at the same time—as she grabbed her jacket and left.

Clarke had sat on her bed for what felt like ages, hearing that last word echo in her head again and again.

Something about Lexa and the way she acted grated on her, and she didn’t know why.

Lexa hadn’t come to the room the rest of the day. Clarke told herself that she had denied Octavia’s request to go out that night because she was tired and had to start that damn paper, but she knew deep inside that it was because she wanted to catch Lexa and apologize.

Stone cold or not, Clarke felt bad for what she had said.

But now, Lexa was finally back, and she seemed to be drunk out of her mind and completely passed out on her tiny twin bed.

Clarke tried to figure out where to start. She got down on her knees so she was closer to eye-level with her.

“Lexa,” she whispered, using a hand to try and shake her awake. “Lexa, you need to change out of your clothes.”

Lexa shifted and moaned, turning to face the ceiling.

“Shut up, Anya,” she groaned, waving a drunk, slow hand in Clarke’s direction.

“Anya’s gone. It’s me, Clarke.” Lexa’s eyes opened slightly at the sound of her name.

“Clarke?” she said, quietly. She shook her head. “No, Clarke hates me.”

Clarke pursed her lips slightly.

“No. No, I don’t hate you,” she replied in a low voice. Lexa turned then to face her, her eyes clouded with weariness and alcohol.

“Clarke,” she whispered, almost reverently. She raised a hand to hold a lock of Clarke’s hair in her fingers.

Her breath caught.

“Clarke with the pretty hair” Lexa said, rubbing the lock between her thumb and forefinger. “Clarke with the nice voice and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

Clarke felt her heart pump in her chest, heard it in her ears. She coughed suddenly to relieve the pressure in her head.

She had no idea what was going on with her. Being this close to Lexa never made her feel like… _this_. It was probably because it was so late. Maybe.

She reached for Lexa again.

“Lexa, you need to change out of your clothes,” she repeated. She tried to calm her heart rate down with the process of taking care of the girl who was _clearly_ drunk out of her mind.

Lexa’s eyes were slightly clearer, as if she had woken up halfway from her stupor.

She pushed herself up to sit on the bed and Clarke reached over to help.

Lexa sat with her shoes planted firmly on the floor, hands braced against the bed and head hanging down as if in prayer.

Clarke sat on the floor and began unlacing Lexa’s boots.

“Shoes off first. Where are your pajamas?”

Lexa mumbled something that sounded like “top dresser drawer.”

Once undone, Clarke motioned for Lexa to pull her shoes off and stood to get Lexa’s clothes. After rummaging through a drawer filled with perfectly folded shirts and shorts (of course), she found something suitable for Lexa to wear. She grabbed a bottle of water for her as well. Turning back to Lexa, she froze.

Lexa had stripped down to just her bra and underwear and stood in the middle of the room, eyes closed and hand in hair.

Clarke opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out. Lexa spoke first, unaware of how she had rendered the girl in front of her completely speechless.

“My head won’t stop spinning.”

Clarke couldn’t find her voice yet, so she awkwardly thrust the bottle of water forward. She swallowed.

“This should-uh, this should help.” Lexa looked grateful and gulped down half the bottle in one go. Clarke handed her the pajamas next, avoiding her eyes.

She looked around the room for something to distract her, but caught a flash of ink on Lexa’s back in the mirror as she clumsily pulled her shirt on.

_A tattoo. Huh._

She wondered what it was. Wondered when she got it and why and wanted to maybe sketch it because there was _nothing_ she loved more than tattoos and maybe one day she could trace it with reverent fingers as-

She was broken out of her thoughts at the sound of Lexa falling back into bed. Clarke shook herself out of the daze.

She went to flick the lights off and was about to crawl into bed when she heard Lexa speak again.

“Have you ever had your heart broken, Clarke?”

Clarke paused, pondered how to respond to Lexa’s question. She could’ve just chalked it up to the alcohol talking, but she was curious. She sat on her bed, legs crossed and back against the wall, facing Lexa’s side of the room. She could just make out the outline of Lexa laying under the covers, even in the darkness.

She could swear that she saw the slight light of her green eyes, too.

“Yes, I have, Lexa.”

“When was it?” Her voice was small, curious.

“I had a boyfriend my senior year in high school. His name was Finn. He cheated on me. It broke me into pieces.” She spoke of the memory as if describing something mundane, something dull. The pain was long gone, but the memory of it would stay with her for much longer.

Lexa was quiet. Long enough for Clarke to wonder if she had fallen asleep. Her voice cut through the silence.

“Finn is an idiot.”

Clarke laughed, which surprised her. Lexa’s voice still carried the lilted slur of liquor, but her sincerity was sweet. She nodded in agreement, even though she knew Lexa couldn’t see her. She weighed the question that was on her mind.

“Have you, Lexa?”

The pause was shorter this time.

“Yes. Her name was Costia.” She stopped, as if gathering courage to continue.

“Her name was Costia,” she repeated, “and she was mine. I loved her, so _so_ much.” Clarke heard Lexa rustle in bed as she moved to lay on her back. Her voice was low and slow, weary and mixed with something that sounded like grief.

“She died two years ago.”

Clarke’s breathing slowed at the confession.

“I’m so sorry, Lexa.”

“Sometimes, I forget. Then I remember and it feels like it happened just yesterday and I can’t breathe. I can’t think or do anything without feeling like I’m going to fall apart.” Lexa took a slow breath.

“But other times,” she paused pointedly, “I feel like I could move on. And I feel guilty about it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with moving on, Lexa. It may feel like you’re forgetting them, but it’s impossible to,” Clarke said. She knew what Lexa was feeling. “Remembering with love is so much better than not letting yourself forget.”

Lexa quieted once more.

“Clarke, I’m about to ask you something embarrassing. Please place the blame solely on the sheer amount I had to drink tonight.”

“Shoot.”

“Would you mind-uh, mind cuddling with me?” Lexa all but stuttered. Clarke laughed again, lightly this time at how different drunk Lexa was to her sober counterpart.

She pulled herself off the bed and walked over to Lexa, nudging the girl to make room for her. Both girls were silent as Clarke fit herself around Lexa, shifting to get comfortable in the bed that was much too small for the two of them.

Clarke wrapped an arm around Lexa’s torso, reveling (just a little) at the warmth that radiated from her.

“Good night, Clarke,” she whispered.

“Good night, Lexa.”

She told herself it’d only be until she could hear Lexa’s breaths even out into sleep, but in the comfort of her embrace, Clarke—unknowingly, unexpectedly, _unsurprisingly_ —fell asleep first.

 


	5. watch me (water)fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Clarke and Lexa go swimming at a waterfall"
> 
> this somehow turned into a summer camp au and I'm okay with it

“Did you get the stuff?”

The quiet question coming from the bushes beside her cabin surprises her, but Lexa doesn’t let it show. She looks closely and spots a shock of summer blonde hair behind the dark green leaves.

“Clarke, what’re you doing in there?” she whispers. Making her way around the foliage, Lexa finds Clarke crouching against the building with a sly smile creeping up her suntanned cheeks.

“If we’re going to sneak out of camp, I want play the full part.”

Lexa just rolls her eyes.

“It’s barely 7 AM on a Sunday morning. There’s no point in sneaking around when everyone in a two-mile radius is unconscious.” Clarke laughs short and low at her annoyance and Lexa tries to ignore the flutter in her stomach.

“But really, did you get your stuff?” Lexa nods and raises a shoulder to gesture at the strap of her backpack. Clarke pats the top of her own in response.

“Alright, Miss No Fun, let’s get going then. I want to see the sun rise above the trees while we walk.” Clarke stands and starts for the forest, a hand reaching out to wrap around Lexa’s wrist. Her touch is warm and soft, and for the hundredth time since the start of the June, Lexa ponders the merits of falling in love during summer camp.

//

_Lexa tells herself that she will keep this scowl for two whole months. The scowl will not leave her face. It will not._

_She drops her giant duffel onto the dirt and plops down onto it. Teenagers her age were running all around the front of the camp, hugging and screaming and being loud in her general vicinity—a fact she was not enjoying._

_Her parents had insisted that the eight-week biology camp would be exciting and fun. “A great experience.” Perfect for her applications. But all she could see in the brochure was being out in the middle of nowhere for two whole months. She wouldn’t be able to hang out with Anya and Gus (who were basically the only two human beings she could handle) and would instead be forced to coexist with other teenagers. Disgusting, really._

_It wasn’t the nature part. She loves nature. She loves the outdoors. The science would be fascinating and she’d be able to take all the environmental study classes she wants. Maybe if there wasn’t a hoard of nerds her age to deal with, the camp would actually be pretty cool._

_She pulls her phone from her pocket._ No service, of course _. She shoves it back into her pocket with a groan and stretches her legs in front of her, watching as a plume of dust raises around her chucks. Five minutes and she was already considering running off._

_Suddenly, with a brilliant flash of hair that flares quick and bright like a light, a body comes tumbling down onto her lap._

_It’s a girl._

_She screams high and loud as she falls onto Lexa’s lap, but Lexa manages to just let out a surprised “oh.” Lexa doesn’t squeal or scream. Thank god she had been sitting on something or they would’ve both face-planted in the dirt. Her hands are braced behind her as the mess on her lap tries to right herself._

_The Girl brushes her hair out of her face and another quiet “oh” falls from Lexa’s lips. Because she doesn’t squeal or scream, no. But this girl has the most brilliant blue eyes and they are so light that Lexa feels them physically pierce through her own dull greys._

_“That’s one way to meet someone new,” The Girl says from her lap. Lexa blushes, but it’s lost in the flurry of movement as they both try to right themselves._

_“I’d say,” Lexa replies quietly. She runs a hand through her curls and straightens her t-shirt. She looks up to see The Girl looking intently at her, as if she expects Lexa to keep talking. Lexa doesn’t._

_The Girl sticks out a hand. Lexa’s eyes look down to it and flick up to hers._ How can someone’s eyes be that blue?

_“I’m Clarke,” The Girl says. “I haven’t seen you around before.”_

_Lexa reaches out to shake her hand once. It’s kind of soft and kind of warm. She is suddenly reminded of her pillow on a summer night._

_“Lexa. And that’s because I’ve never been here before.”_

_“You’ll like it here. It’s a lot of fun.” Lexa raises an eyebrow in response and Clarke rolls her eyes. Lexa notes how great of an eye roll it is._

_“Okay,” Clarke concedes, “the camp’s pretty nerdy, but that’s why we’re all here.”_

_“Oh no, I’m here for the poor cell service and the old cabins.”_

_Clarke laughs. It’s fast and low and loud and Lexa is surprised at how much she likes it._

_“The cold showers and mosquitoes are pretty great, too.”_

_“Oh, joy.”_

_“It’s a blast, Lexa,” Clarke says as she steps forward and places both hands on her shoulders. “Trust me.”_

_Clarke tilts her head and smiles bright. Lexa feels her skin prickle and her heart lurch and realizes, blindingly, that her scowl has been replaced by a small grin. A voice in her head sighs._

_Well, fuck._

//

“C’mon Woods, you just turned 16. You’ve gotta have at least _one_ embarrassing memory,” Clarke says over her shoulder as she steps carefully down a steep set of rocks.

Lexa considers the question as she tests the next boulder with a toe to test it. The memory that immediately springs to mind makes her throat close up and a hint of heat rise up her neck. She groans.

“Busted, tell me, tell me, _tell me_ ,” Clarke says as she whips around at the sound of her distress. Lexa sighs, but cracks a smile at the sight of Clarke’s eagerness.

“I was a freshman and still very lanky and awkward. I was enamored by my English teacher and made a complete idiot out of myself at the end of the school year when we read our final pieces aloud to the class. It was a poem and I wrote it about them and _everyone_ figured it out by the end,” Lexa explains. “Thank god for summer break though because it was practically forgotten by the time school started again.”

Clarke looks at her funny and bursts out laughing. Lexa immediately blushes and sputters to defend herself.

“Oh my goodness, I was _14_.” Clarke lifts a finger to wipe away an imaginary tear and Lexa shoves her shoulder. She steps away to balance and raises her hands in defense.

“Oh come on, Lexa, that’s not even that bad. But it _was_ only two years ago, so that’s pretty embarrassing.” Lexa rolls her eyes.

“Ugh, I’d prefer not to be reminded.”

Clarke turns around to start down the light trail again, but continues to speak.

“So what was he like? Tall, dark, handsome? Young, I bet. Maybe fresh out of grad school.” Lexa’s eyebrows furrow at Clarke’s words.

“What?”

“Your English teacher. Mr. Hottie must’ve been a knockout for you to be all ‘ _enamored’_.” She lifts her hands to wiggle her fingers with the last word. Before Lexa can even think twice, she hears herself responding.

“Ms. Hottie.”

Clarke’s step falters slightly and Lexa can’t help but feel a little smug at tripping her up for once. She had always been the one to get tongue-tied and clumsy whenever Clarke opened her mouth. She turns around to face Lexa and walk backwards.

“What?”

“It was a she. My English teacher.” Lexa schools her face to remain calm, her tone even. _This isn’t a big deal._

Clarke’s head cocks slightly to one side and her eyebrows furrow slightly.

“Huh,” she says thoughtfully and Lexa tries to deny the whir of nerves in her chest. “ _She_ must’ve been a knockout then.”

With that, she turns around and keeps walking, as if Lexa hadn’t just shared something monumental with her. _This isn’t a big deal_.

//

_After a week of orientations, classes starting, and meeting new people, Lexa finds herself establishing a steady routine with Clarke at her side. They eat breakfast together at morning call, go to all the same mid-day programs, eat lunch, and spend their free afternoons together._

_They go exploring on hikes and claim the old swings as their own. They spend countless hours swaying back and forth, talking about everything and nothing at the same time._

_One night, they find themselves laying on the forest floor (their hoodies draped under them) and looking up at the stars. Lexa is rambling about constellations, and Clarke is quiet as she listens._

_“It’s incredible really. The astrolabe was a feat of modern invention! I mean, can you believe that actual people trusted this instrument enough to venture out into open waters with nothing but the freakin’ sky to guide them?” Lexa’s hands shoot out to gesture at the twinkling lights high above them and Clarke chuckles._

_“It’s been officially confirmed that you are a first-class nerd.”_

_“Hardly.” Clarke turns to face her and Lexa feels a smile creep up her face. There weren't days when she didn’t smile anymore. She had Clarke to thank for that._

_“Lexa, you talk like a 42-year-old Oxford scholar. It’s cute sometimes, but other times, I feel like I’m talking to Indra.”_

_“Indra couldn’t be a scholar, Clarke. She’s bound to her duties as a camp counselor. A terrifying one at that.” Clarke rolls her eyes and Lexa laughs again._

_“There you go again. My little dictionary. I should start calling you Lexa-con.”_

_“Oh my goodness.”_

_“That’s perfect! Lexa-con. Like lexicon? Since you’re all wordy and nerdy.”_

_“I got it, Clarke, thanks.”_

_“Only I can call you that though, okay?”_

_Lexa feels her chest warm at the sentiment. It’s dangerous to feel this way, but Clarke has no idea what she’s doing to her. Lexa feels helpless against it all._

_“Sounds good.”_

_Clarke turns to face her suddenly._

_“Let’s do something tomorrow morning.”_

_“Uh, it’s Sunday. I don’t know about you, but I like the idea of sleeping in a bit.”_

_“But everyone is going to be sleeping. How mainstream,” Clarke says. Lexa rolls her eyes. She’s getting pretty good at it. Clarke looks back up at the sky._

_She sits up suddenly, her eyes as bright as the lights above them._

_“I know what we’re going to do and you are not saying no,” Clarke exclaims. Lexa raises herself to her forearms._

_“That doesn’t sound very safe.” But Clarke already looks much too excited and satisfied by her decision for Lexa to deny anything._

_“Oh, stop it,” Clarke says as she nudges Lexa’s shoulder. “It’ll be fun.”_

_“Am I allowed to know what this great idea is?” Clarke shakes her head._

_“No, it’s a surprise. A secret.”_

_(Lexa knows about secrets.)_

_Lexa just shrugs. She had gotten used to Clarke’s ideas and the idea of Clarke. She’s happy to do anything if it meant spending time with the blonde._

_“Be ready by 7, okay? Pack a swimsuit, an extra set of clothes, and snacks. Wear hiking shoes and meet me outside your cabin,” Clarke says as she starts to get up._

_“A wild guess says we’re going swimming,” Lexa retorts with a small smirk._

_“No one likes a smart aleck.” Clarke pokes her on the side and it’s all she can do not to squeak. She stops to recoup._

_“Clarke, you_ know _I hate that,” she practically whines._

_Suddenly, she feels a warm breath at her ear and her heart beats hard in her chest._

_“Sorry,” Clarke says. But it could’ve been a whisper._

_Lexa turns to face her, but she’s already a few paces ahead and making her way towards her cabin._

_“Good night, Lexa,” she calls over her shoulder._

_Lexa tries to ignore the chill of goose bumps without Clarke next to her._

_“Good night, Clarke.”_

_(Lexa has a secret.)_

_//_

They remain silent for a while (during which Lexa tries to slow her heartbeat down to a reasonable rhythm) until she realizes Clarke hadn’t answered the question.

“So what’s _your_ most embarrassing memory?” she calls ahead.

There’s a beat of silence, but her question goes ignored because Clarke takes off in a dead sprint down the path into the trees. Lexa lurches in surprise and immediately runs after her.

“Clarke! Wait!” she yells. She hears her crashing through the leaves and tries her best to catch up. Her legs are pumping against the dirt and although she can hear her breath speeding up, she can hear the quiet rumblings of something up ahead. Is that… _water?_

“C’mon Lexa, we’re here!” Clarke’s voice comes from far ahead and Lexa can barely make out her blonde hair from a distance. There’s a sudden _crash_ and _snap_ of branches. She keeps running along the footsteps dug into the dirt by Clarke’s shoes and follows it to the edge of the tree line. 

Lexa stops suddenly when she spots something crumpled on the ground. It’s a shirt.

The shirt Clarke was wearing.

She picks it up gingerly and looks ahead. A dense lining of trees and bushes stands in front of her. She can hear something just past it. What started as a low gurgle had grown into a loud rushing of water. Lexa peers through the small hole in the foliage—presumably where Clarke had smashed her way in—and carefully steps through. When she turns around, her jaw drops.

She’s standing in an oasis.

A large waterfall crests a high set of silver rocks to her right. She is standing on a low cliff over the water that swirled slowly in a small pool beneath her. With the sun bright in the sky, the green of the surrounding trees casting a cool shadow, and the brilliant gleam of the clear lagoon shining below, Lexa is convinced that Clarke had brought them to another world.

“Clarke?” she calls out. There still wasn’t any sign of her.

She looks down and sees a pair of sky blue running shorts discarded next to her feet.

Her best friend is running around topless and pantless, and as much as that secretly got her heart racing, she’s worried.

She sets her backpack down and peers over the edge of the ledge. It’s high up—maybe about 20 meters down to the calm water beneath her. She scans the area for the bright hair she had learned to recognize in the past few weeks.

She calls out her name again. Nothing.

Lexa stands again and runs a worried hand through her ponytail. Where could she be? Had Clarke gotten hurt? Oh _god_ , and they were _at least_ two miles from camp-

“LEXA!”

With a shriek in surprise, Lexa feels herself engulfed in a bear hug and suddenly, terrifyingly, weightless and flying through the air. Her scream echoes all the way down, harmonizing at one point with Clarke’s laughter and whooping.

They hit the cool water with a huge splash.

Lexa comes up sputtering and absolutely _affronted_ by the surprise attack.

“Clarke, what the _fuck_?!” she yelled, shaking water from her face. Clarke’s head rises out of the water gracefully, droplets rolling from her hair and down her neck like she’s some _goddamn model_. She just laughs and lightly splashes Lexa. That had been the first time she cursed all summer.

“Ha, you screamed like a girl.” She smiles wide and Lexa already feels her anger dissipating.

“Can you blame me?” Lexa says as she starts swimming towards the edge of the water. Clarke follows slowly, wading backwards with her head tilted towards the sky.

“I didn’t think I could scare _big, badass_ Lexa Woods.”

Lexa steps out of the water and leans forward as her t-shirt hangs off of her, dripping water onto the sand at her shoes. Her feet squeak in her drenched sneakers as she turned around. She raises a quick thank-you to the skies for having the foresight to change into her swimsuit before they left camp.

“Here I was,” she says, gripping the edge of her shirt, “concerned about your well-being, while you were planning a cliff-dive without my knowledge.” She raisesit over her head in one quick motion and bends over to drop her shorts. As she stands to pull her shoes off, she sees Clarke’s eyes drift downwards and roam down her body. Lexa feels her cheeks burn, but not before she spots a blush on Clarke’s own. Something bubbles in her chest—it feels a little like _hope_ or _could it be_ —but she quickly squashes it down.

Clarke regroups herself and directs her attention to her hands swirling in the water while Lexa slowly steps back in.

“What can I say? I’m an evil mastermind,” she says. Lexa swims with long, languid strokes out to Clarke and wades next to her.

“I’d hardly consider that a master plan.” Clarke squints at her playfully.

“At least I keep things _fun_.” Lexa looks at her in mock surprise.

“Excuse you, I am fun.” Clarke smiles.

“You keep telling yourself that, Lex.” Lexa sticks her tongue out at her, and even though it feels juvenile, Clarke laughs and it’s worth it. But Lexa remembers something suddenly, and she can’t let it go.

“I shared an embarrassing memory with you. It’s your turn.” Clarke starts to try and swim away, but Lexa’s fast and she puts a hand around her wrist.

“Crap, I was going to run away again,” Clarke says with a sly grin.

“Not this time.” Lexa wades in a circle around her. “Come on, fair is fair.”

“Alright, fine,” Clarke says as she wipes her face with a hand. “When I was 11, I got gum stuck in my hair and my mom had to cut it super short. Everyone made fun of my ugly haircut.”

Lexa’s quiet for a moment. She raises a hand slowly out of the water, her fist clenched and her thumb pointing down.

“No offense, but that is the lamest embarrassing memory ever,” she says. “I’m pretty sure that’s happened to everyone.” Clarke scoffs and tries to defend herself.

“What—I mean, I was _scarred_ from the teasing.”

“That’s hardly equal to _I was in love with my English teacher and everyone found out_ though. There has to be something more,” Lexa says. Clarke’s eyes raise in thought.

“Or are you just too perfect for me?” Lexa teases. At that, Clarke looks directly at her and something shifts in her gaze. It immediately makes Lexa drop the smile on her face. She looks serious.

Her eyes look down at the water again as she wades a little closer to Lexa. Her voice is small.

“A few weeks ago, I was running around trying to find all my friends to say hi. I had missed them and was so happy to see them again. But then, I saw this girl.” She takes a breath as if to steady herself. “She was sitting on her bag, trying to look all cool and unaffected by everything. She had this… _hair_ and these eyes that I could see from far away. But I was trying so hard not to see and _stare_ and I forgot that I was running and I totally just fell…on her.”

Lexa stops breathing as Clarke gets closer and closer. She’s never seen this look on her face before. She remembers that day—the first day—when she had first met Clarke. Like she had fallen from the sky onto her lap.

“I was so _goddamn_ embarrassed,” she says.

She’s still getting closer.

Lexa can feel her pulse all through her body.

They’re close enough for their noses to touch and Lexa feels like the entire world is sitting on her lungs.

“Can I?” Clarke whispers.

Lexa just nods slightly because for once, she’s at a loss for words.

Their lips touch and the whole universe disappears. But then, their lips start to move and Lexa feels her head reel with the realization that this is what all the writers meant in their stories. She reels because she prides herself in her words and she feels she can fill entire dictionaries, entire anthologies and novels with how she feels for Clarke. How right and wonderful and _good_ it feels, how amazed she is that this—that _they_ —can exist.

Clarke slides her tongue across Lexa’s bottom lip and her mind fills with poetry. Lexa pulls at Clarke’s top lip and she marvels at the taste, at the feeling of it between her teeth.

They both pull away when they run out of air, but they remain close with their foreheads touching. It’s quiet, save for their breathing and the continuous thrum of the waterfall.

“I don’t know what this is,” Clarke whispers. Lexa feels the words on her lips and wonders silently if she could taste Clarke’s voice now.

Lexa weighs her words carefully. Her heart is beating out of her chest and she can feel the heat radiating off of Clarke’s skin, even through the water. Lexa can tell she’s buzzing from nerves, but only because she’s feeling the same way. She lets out a little sigh and delights a little when Clarke’s eyes flick down to her mouth again.

“It’s…definitely something.”

At that, Clarke laughs big and loud, and Lexa smiles when she feels it reverberate in her bones. Clarke was the embodiment of summer, and oh, did Lexa want to burn in her warmth.

“What happened to your big, smart words, Woods?”

It’s Lexa’s turn to smirk.

“My mouth was preoccupied by other thoughts.” A sly eyebrow lifts to hide under golden hair.

“Oh?” Clarke says as she leans in close again. Lexa feels her eyes flutter closed and her lips part.

She is greeted by a huge splash of water to the face.

She sputters and gasps, but Clarke is laughing and screaming and already trying to get away from her. Lexa practically growls but it comes out as a laugh as she swims after Clarke. They’re loud and crazy and making waves in the water but it’s okay, because they are alone and together and it’s summertime and this is something.

 


	6. the french connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a french cafe au: Lexa is visiting Paris and runs into a girl whose hobbies include drawing and making her wish she knew more French. 
> 
>  
> 
> note: I am in no way a native French speaker. I took French for many years in high school, but we all know those classes are as effective as a spork. pls let me know if I made any errors or if you need translations. I don't think I made it too difficult to understand :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised to write this for someone who has moved on.

France was rapidly starting to lose its appeal and Lexa felt like an asshole for it.

Sure, it was _Paris_ , but the excitement and intrigue was fresh for about, oh, _five days_ , and now she found herself sitting at another corner café, bored out of her goddamn mind.

She had seen the city from the top of the Eiffel Tower, strolled through the Louvre, driven around the Arc de Triomphe, climbed the many steps to the bell tower of the Notre-Dame. Everything. She’d done everything you’re meant to do in Paris.

It was a cool spring day, the sun was high in the sky, and Lexa found her only companions to be a perfectly warm and flaky croissant and a lukewarm _café au lait_ that she hadn’t even touched since it was brought by a mustached waiter (obviously).

Frankly, it was all getting old.

She didn’t know if it was homesickness or boredom, but there was a weight in her chest that was slowing her excitement and dulling the bright colors around her into a single blur. Lexa was never this mopey or broody, but something about being in France all alone made it hard.

She sighed. She was being lame and cynical, and she knew it. She was just starting her semester abroad—something fun and _exciting_ , for fuck’s sake—and yet she was already done with Paris. She had chosen somewhere completely foreign to her, somewhere far away from everything she was familiar with to try and start a fresh chapter in her life. She had hoped that being in a new place, a city known for its magic and wonder would give her a new sense of passion.

She wasn’t so lucky.

She let her mind wander, her eyes float across the cityscape before her. She was the only one sitting outside in the café’s veranda, and the wait staff had all but abandoned her after a few “ _non, merci”_ s. She was just sitting there, scowling at the bright colors and sounds around her, wondering what the hell she was missing about France.

Then, a flash of gold caught her eye. A girl about her age entered the small gate and sat down a few tables away from her. She sat slightly angled away from Lexa, so that all she could see was the elegant slope of her neck and the very edge of her profile. The girl pulled a book out of her bag and set it down as a waiter glided over and asked for her order. Lexa heard a light “ _un café, s’il vous plait_ ” and let herself enjoy the smooth accent of her French.

As the waiter left, the girl opened her book and pulled a pencil out of her hair. She looked around her and began sketching. Lexa watched with (probably creepy) abandon as her hand glided swiftly over the page.

What started out as a few random lines began to take form and look like the buildings around them. Lexa marveled at how a simple pencil could make the paper look so alive, like a small black and white photo of their surroundings.

She was so busy watching the girl’s hand swipe broad strokes across the page, litter it with light shading and dark lines that it took her a few seconds to realize she had stopped.

And was looking right at her.

Lexa froze and waited for an angry glare or some sort of verbal insult, but when none came, she recognized a hint of amusement in the girl’s eyes. Blue eyes. Eyes as blue as the sky above them and hair as gold as a field of wheat. Skin fair and light and perfect. And so, _obviously_ , Lexa decided to further her embarrassment.

“Eh, bonjour,” she said.

The girl smiled and Lexa immediately forgot every minute of the month she spent studying French. Whoever called it the “language of love” was an asshole because in reality, it was entirely too easy to forget the smooth vowels and rounded sounds when staring at someone who could easily break your heart into pieces.

A light laugh fell from the girl’s mouth.

“Bonjour,” she responded. “Tu n’est pas Française.” She stated it more than asking and Lexa felt herself blush. She shook her head no.

“Americaine?”

“Oui.”

“Ah, ça a un sens. Souhaites-tu asseoir avec moi?” she asked. Lexa paused and frowned a little, trying to translate her words in her head. Sensing her hesitation, the girl gestured to the seat next to her. _Oh_ , an invitation to sit with her.

Lexa figured she had nothing to lose in sitting with a pretty girl at a small café in Paris. She stood with her plate and cup and walked over, taking a seat next to her. She didn’t really know how to greet her, so she went the old-fashioned way and stuck a hand out.

“Je m’appelle Lexa.” The girl looked at her hand, smiled, and reached out with her own. The soft hand shook Lexa’s once.

“Clarke. _Enchanté_.” Lexa smiled in return and pointed at Clarke’s sketchbook.

“You’re very good at drawing. Uh, _trés bien._ ”

It was just a small compliment, but Clarke still blushed.

“Merci, mais c’est seulement pour le plaisir.” Lexa’s lips pursed in confusion. Clarke spotted it and searched for a translation. Her hand twirled in the air as if fishing for words in the air.

“Eh, for happiness,” she said in a heavy accent.

The words hit Lexa like a punch. _For happiness._

She wondered how her own language could sound so beautiful coming from someone who didn’t speak it.

“Que fais-tu à Paris?” Clarke said.

Lexa knew she was asking what she was doing there in Paris, but she was struggling to remember how get her mouth to move and brain to function in French mode.

“Uh, étudier?” she said. Her grammar was really fucking atrocious. But that’s why she chose to come to France to study. To improve her French.

If she had known she’d be sitting in a café with a beautiful girl who couldn’t speak English, maybe she would’ve studied a little harder.

“À l’université?” she asked. Lexa nodded, but struggled to figure out how to explain her major.

And she wasn’t about to say _international relations_ in a vague, French-ish accent.

Instead, she leaned over to Clarke, plucked the other pencil out of Clarke’s ponytail, and commandeered her sketchbook.

Using the best of her artistic ability, she drew a small Earth with a big flag sticking out of it. She drew a heart for good measure.

She passed it back to Clarke and was delighted when she laughed. She turned to Lexa with a smile.

“Ah, relations internationales.”

Lexa frowned. She could’ve easily said that. But Clarke’s amusement at her drawing was worth it.

“And you?” Lexa asked. Clarke seemed to understand the question was reciprocated.

She began drawing in the book next to Lexa’s. A caduceus.

It made hers look like a kid’s doodle.

“You’re studying to be a doctor?” Lexa was surprised. She would’ve guessed that Clarke was the classic Parisian art student. She was certainly good enough to be, from what she’d seen.

“Une médecine, oui. À l’Université de Paris,” Clarke said, eyeing her. Lexa nodded slowly. Noticing her reaction, Clarke leaned in close to Lexa.

“Mais ce que je veux vraiment faire,” she whispered, “est d’être une tatoueuse.”

Lexa’s eyes widened a fraction. Not because she understood Clarke was saying (she literally had no clue), but because she could feel the warmth of Clarke’s breath tickle her cheek. She spotted a glint of a secret in Clarke’s impossibly blue eyes.

Knowing Lexa was lost in translation, Clarke paused for a second to consider her next move. Suddenly, she took Lexa’s hand in hers and sat it on her knee.

She turned to dig through her bag for something and Lexa tried not to let herself spontaneously combust at the feeling of Clarke’s leg under her hand.

With a small sound of victory, Clarke pulled a small black marker out and popped the cap off with her teeth.

Lexa tried not to look at her lips.

With gentle fingers, her hand traced up Lexa’s arm to her bicep. She leaned in close with the marker in her other hand and looked up at Lexa.

“Puis-je…?” she asked. Lexa knew she was asking permission to do…something, but Lexa just nodded. She was too flustered for words, let alone considering the merits of letting a (beautiful) stranger feel up her arm. (It was fine, really.)

Clarke began drawing on Lexa’s skin. The marker was thin, very thin, and left a clear, sharp line of ink in its wake. She outlined a swirling design around her arm. Doubled back and thickened the contours and added small swirls and loops. Lexa just stared at the growing tattoo on her arm, amazed at the beauty and detail that seemed to flow from Clarke’s fingers.

When she was satisfied with her work, she sat back and admired the ink. Lexa tried not to look to shocked.

“You want to be a tattoo artist,” she whispered, still staring at her bicep. It was _incredible_. And she did it with a marker, for fuck’s sake. Lexa finally looked up at Clarke.

“Oui,” she said, recognizing the understanding in her eyes. Lexa shook her head slowly in disbelief.

“You are amazing. _This_ is amazing,” she said, gesturing at the makeshift tattoo. Clarke just stared at her with a smile, so (like an idiot), Lexa gave her a thumbs-up.

Clarke laughed bright and loud and Lexa felt it pulse through her veins. Her blood hummed with newfound excitement.

“You would be great,” Lexa said. Clarke blushed a bit and looked down at her hands as she capped the marker and stuck it in her bun.

There was a beat of silence as both girls tried to recompose themselves.

“Que fais-tu dans ce petit café?” Clarke asked. Lexa knew enough of the language to assume that Clarke was asking what she was doing alone in a tiny café.

“Rien.” _Nothing_. “Paris est terne.” _Paris is dull_.

(Lexa had looked up the French word for “dull” earlier that morning for satirical reasons. It proved helpful.)

Clarke, on the other hand, looked absolutely affronted, as if she had insulted her personally.

“Quand es-tu arrivée ici?” Clarke asked. Lexa’s eyebrows raised again. Clarke’s hand started circling the air.

“When did you arrive?” The accent was thick and sweet, like syrup. Honey, maybe.

“Oh, la semaine dérniére.” Her French was awful in her own ears, but she was grateful she at least knew _something_. Clarke thought otherwise.

“ _Lexa!_ ” she screamed. Lexa practically jumped and looked around in surprise to see if anyone had noticed Clarke’s outburst. But it was just them.

“Lexa, c’est la ville de la lumière. La ville de _l’amour_!”

Lexa shrugged at her incredulous expression. Clarke’s eyes roamed across the background, her eyebrows scrunched in thought. She turned to Lexa.

“Je vais t’apprendre.” She paused as if making a decision. “I will… _teach_ you.”

The accented words buzzed in Lexa’s bones.

Suddenly, Clarke threw her sketchbook into her bag, dropped a ten euro note on the table, and grabbed Lexa’s hand.

She let herself be pulled by the pretty girl but felt something bubble up inside of her.

“Wait,” she said suddenly, “wait, _attends!_ ” Clarke stopped and turned around, her face surprised at Lexa’s sudden outburst.

“You don’t have to do—Why are you doing this?” Lexa asked, her voice growing smaller and smaller as she realized the sun was hitting Clarke’s eyes just right. They glittered. Like actual fucking crystals.

But Clarke just stared, her eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

“Pourquoi?” Lexa asked. _Why?_

“Je vais te montrer Paris proprement.”

Lexa cocked her head slightly. French was hard enough to understand on its own. But add that to trying to think about anything other than the way Clarke was basically a walking vision of everything you’d expect in Paris—elegance, beauty, wonder, and _quite_ the view—consider Lexa a lost cause.

Clarke pursed her lips and brought a hand up to push back a few loose strands of hair.

“I will show you Paris,” she said. A small smile lifted the corner of her lips and it took all of Lexa’s willpower to keep herself from looking south of Clarke’s eyes.

Clarke leaned towards Lexa, head bowed slightly as if she was about to share a secret.

“For happiness,” she whispered.

//

They walked in a comfortable silence for several blocks, but when a familiar glass pyramid came into view, Lexa stopped.

“Clarke, I’ve already been here. Uh, _déjà vu_?” she tried to explain. But Clarke didn’t even acknowledge her. She kept walking down the wide, busy road, but turned her head slightly to look at Lexa. Her eyes said _follow me_. Lexa caught back up with her, slightly excited at the thought of an adventure of some sort.

“L’inattendu abrite le beau,” Clarke said. Lexa had no clue what it meant, but she was pretty sure she was about to find out.

Clarke turned onto a narrow street and led them down an alleyway. Right when Lexa started getting a little worried, Clarke stopped at a wooden doorway. A small sign hung just above, reading “ _Le Peintre Perdu._ ” Clarke reached out with a hand to grasp the knob before turning to Lexa.

“A better _Louvre_ ,” she said with a smile. She opened the door with a small _ding_ and stepped inside. Lexa followed slowly, looking around the room that was glowing with dimmed lights. It smelled like old wood and paint, like closed doors and safe secrets.

It was a small gallery.

Clarke entered and stopped, letting Lexa step around her with wide eyes and an open mouth.

The art was… _incredible_.

Frames of all sizes hung from the walls. Everything from charcoal sketches to massive works covered in acrylic lined the old, grey wood. All of it competed for Lexa’s attention, and she felt overwhelmed by the colors and shapes and artistry.

She began to wander around, letting her eyes trace over ever piece and take in the extent of it all. It felt like Clarke was sharing a secret with her, and it was indescribable. The art was nothing like the art she saw in the Louvre. Of course they were breathtaking and admirable, but these—these were _real_ and human and felt like something from this lifetime.

After moving slowly throughout the room, Lexa felt herself pause in front of a small canvas. It was a night landscape with oils and it was astonishing. It was the kind of art you felt in your blood and bones, in the very core of your being. The center of your mind.

Clarke came up next to her.

“Tu l’aimes?” she asked, leaning in close to whisper. They were alone, but the gallery felt sacred. Like it had to be protected from the eyes and ears of the rest of the world.

“Oui, I love it. Uh, je l’adore. It’s the best painting I’ve ever seen,” Lexa breathed. Her eyes hadn’t left the frame. She didn’t see the warm look in Clarke’s eyes.

“Cette galerie, c’est pour l’art inconnue. The unknown,” she tried to explain. Lexa nodded.

“It’s better than the Louvre,” she said, sincerity laced in her voice.

“Tu flirte avec moi,” she said. Lexa could at least translate that, and looked at her confused. Clarke nodded at the painting with her chin, a shy smile on her face.

“L'artiste, c’est moi.”

//

 

They went to a movie theater next. Lexa found Clarke’s arm linked through hers as they walked down a cobblestone road in the setting sun. It was comfortable, easy even. As if they had known each other for years instead of the mere hours they’d spent together.

Clarke stopped them in front of an old-fashioned theater and turned to face her.

“Le cinema francais est indispensable,” she explained. Lexa watched Clarke’s lips move with each syllable. She didn’t know when she started looking at Clarke’s mouth (it was a new development, really) but she couldn’t remember life before the desire that was tingling under her skin. She let Clarke pull her through the glass doors without a word of protest. As they approached the ticket counter, she gestured at the bright board above them.

“Tu choisis.” _You choose_. Lexa looked up at the bright board hanging above their heads and doesn’t recognize a single title.

“Je ne sais pas.” Lexa was glad to at least know how to say “I don’t know.” Clarke smiled and rolled her eyes.

“C’est le but,” she said. Lexa’s eyebrows scrunched together. Clarke’s hand started circling again, as if searching for the word in the air. “Eh, the, eh, _raison_.”

Oh. She didn’t know any of the movies, and that was the point. Lexa looked up and tried to make sense of the words (obviously, she had no chance). She decided to go with the shortest title on the board.

“Amélie?” she asked more than said. Clarke’s eyes lit up and Lexa couldn’t help but feel a little proud.

“Une Americaine typicale,” Clarke said. Lexa had no idea what that meant, but she didn’t really care about anything beyond making the girl in front of her smile. Clarke walked up to the girl behind the glass.

“Deux pour Amelie, s’il vous plait,” she said. The girl nodded, accepted her money and passed back two small stubs. She leaned forward into her small microphone.

“Vous etes mignonnes ensemble,” the buzzy voice said. Lexa turned to Clarke for some sort of translation, but was surprised by her by taking Lexa’s arm and winking at the ticket girl.

//

Clarke had this habit of resting her entire elbow on the armrest and holding her hand in the air, her thumb and forefinger rubbing together in circles. She watched the movie intently, smiling and laughing every now and then. There was a dimple that peeked on her left cheek of she grinned just right. A small freckle that sat elegantly above her lips. (Lexa tried not to look at her lips.)

(That was dangerous.)

She had no idea what was going on in the movie. To be honest, she had given up halfway through when she realized she had been covertly watching Clarke more than the screen.

“Tu dois regarder le film a un cinema, Lexa,” Clarke whispered. _Okay, apparently not that covertly._ Clarke moved her hand to hold Lexa’s, where it stayed for the rest of the movie.

Lexa didn’t watch a second of it.

//

When they left the theater, it was dark and they were still holding hands. Clarke had burnt the daylight with her, showed her the smaller things that she didn’t know she had been missing.

Suddenly, she had an idea, but it was crazy and probably too much to do for someone she had only just met but something about the girl and the warm hand in hers made it seem just sane enough. She turned to Clarke.

“Okay, it’s my turn to woo you in Paris.” Clarke raised an eyebrow. Lexa searched for the words. She swirled them around in her mind before letting them go. “Je veux faire quelque chose pour tu.” Clarke smiled.

“Ouvrir la marche, _Miss America_.” She gestured in front of her, as if telling her to lead the way. Lexa could never get tired of the French accent that lilted her English. She pulled out her phone and quickly searched the fastest route to their destination.

They walked to the metro, hand-in-hand, and Lexa wondered how it was possible for every nerve ending in her palm and fingers to be so alive. They sat next to each other, too close for two people who had just met that morning, but, incredibly, not close enough. Clarke rested her head on Lexa’s shoulders as they swayed gently with the rattling of the subway car, and Lexa thanked the city of Paris for the thousandth time that evening.  
  
//

They get to the place and Lexa’s heart sank when she saw that it was dark, the gates shut. Even the sign was dim against the purple setting of the sky.

 _Meudon Observatoire_.

“Merde,” Clarke whispered and Lexa replied with the English counterpart.

“Shit, I didn’t think this place closed.” Her mind raced to try and figure out another way in. She eyed the gate, how tall the fences were, how dark it looked inside. She quickly figured out a plan and turned to Clarke.

“Clarke, wait _ici._ I’ll be back, okay? _Deux minutes_.” Clarke nodded and looked around them. It night was getting darker by the minute. Lexa considered her words.

“If you need me— _si  tu as besoin de moi_ —eh, scream my name.” Clarke raised an eyebrow, and Lexa gestured to her mouth.

“Yell?” she tried, and Clarke nodded with understanding. Before Lexa could talk herself out of it, she kissed Clarke’s cheek. Immediately turning around, she took a running start towards the tall fence and jumped it very smoothly. Clarke gasped and yelled her name in surprise, but Lexa just turned back to her and winked.

Proud of how smooth she was, she took off running, going through the plan in her head. She wondered if she could still pick locks with a hairpin. It had been years—a lifetime, really—since she needed those skills, but she was sure it’d be like riding a bike. Or, stealing one in this case.

She had a lot to do in two minutes.

//

Lexa came running back and spotted Clarke leaning against the fence, looking up at the sky. She silently thanked the cool breeze for keeping her from being too sweaty and gross.

“Clarke!” She whipped around at the sound of Lexa’s voice and smiled. Lexa was sure that her smile was brighter and warmer than all the lights in the city combined.

“Okay,” she breathed as she approached her, “now you need to jump this fence.” She gestured at the fence and tried to mime jumping over, and Clarke looked at her incredulously.

“Moi? _Quoi?_ ”

“I’m here. Je suis ici. You’ll be okay.” She expected Clarke to put up more of a fight, but she merely sighed and tossed her bag over. Lexa caught it and set it down next to her.

“Okay, now put a foot here,” Lexa said as she pointed through the fence, “and your hands here.” She directed Clarke all the way up the fence, but when she got to the top, her foot slipped. With a squeak, she fell, but Lexa was ready for her.

She caught Clarke, but the momentum toppled them over. Luckily, Lexa fell onto grass and Clarke landed safely on top of her.

“ _Putain!_ ” she cursed “désolée, désolée, désolée.”

“I’m okay, je suis d’accord,” Lexa insisted as she tried to get air back into her lungs. Clarke got up and helped her to her feet, but when she stood, they were close, almost nose to nose. Both of them stopped breathing.

But Lexa had some wooing to do.

“This way, Clarke.”  
  
She led them to a wide hill, where a small blanket was spread out in the grass. A little bit of wine and cheese she had swiped from the small market that had locked up for the night and the most unimpressive bottle of wine France (compliments of the manager’s personal storage.

But most importantly, a view of all of Paris stretched out from their spot—the lights of the entire city glittering in the purple-ish hue of the night. Clarke gasped next to her, and Lexa knew it was all worth it.

“Lexa, _c’est incroyable_.”

“Well, I try,” Lexa said proudly. She took Clarke’s hand and led them to their spot, sat down, opened the wine. Clarke was watching her with a strange glint in her eyes the whole time. As Lexa passed her the small cup of wine, she set it down on the grass and suddenly moved towards her. Without warning, she put both hands on the curve of Lexa’s jaw. She leaned in close, close enough for Lexa to feel her breath tickling her lips. She whispered.

“You are really something, Lexa Woods.” Then, almost magnetically, she pulled them together. Their lips met like ships finding the shoreline, and Lexa was home. Clarke was still, waiting for Lexa to respond in some way, and, oh, Lexa did. Her lips moved, all taste and bite and tongue, and Clarke kept up with her ever step of the way. She swiped her tongue across Clarke’s bottom lip and she keened, low and deep and Lexa felt it rumble all the way through her gut. She thought—no, she _knew_ she could invent a whole new language with what the felt. She could fill entire dictionaries full of verbs and nouns and adjectives to seal the void between the words they could not understand in each other’s mouths. But really, what more was there to say and know when they were kissing? No words in any language could ever be enough to describe the way her heart fluttered in her chest, the way Clarke tasted, how well she understood her despite their language barrier—

Lexa pulled back suddenly as her brain caught up.

“Wait, did you just speak English? You said something in English. Like real English.” Clarke’s blue eyes were dark and wide, her chest heaving.

“What are you talking about?” she said, surprised. Lexa pointed at her.

“There! Again! English.” Lexa was speaking in extremely short and simple words, but she was still trying to get her brain working after their kiss. Clarke stared at her for a few seconds and then sighed, her shoulders sagging with a small laugh.

“Okay, you got me. I can speak English.” Lexa stared, mouth agape. Clarke’s hands flew up to pull her hair behind her ears and rub her forehead in worry.

“My mother is Americaine, but I was raised here in Paris. My father insisted I be fluent in both so I grew up speaking French at school and English at home,” she rambled.

The accent looped and dipped in Clarke’s words, and Lexa swore that she had never heard something more beautiful. It was like singing without the music. (Was that a thing? It had to be a thing.)

“So, all day,” she said, trying to articulate her too-slow thoughts, “you were pretending not to understand me?” Clarke’s head dropped and she rested a hand on Lexa’s shoulder, her fingers toying with the hem of her collar.

“Yes. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to _lie_ or anything. It’s just, you were so cute when you tried to speak French and make me understand. And I didn’t want to lose my _French_ appeal.” She looked at Lexa with apologetic eyes.

“Now I’m embarrassed,” Lexa deadpanned. Clarke laughed again and Lexa couldn’t help but smile.

“Don’t be, it was cute. You’re not bad,” Clarke said, teasingly.

“I’m awful, Clarke.”

“ _Yeah_ , you are, but it’s okay.”

They lapsed into quiet and Lexa could feel the waves of guilt coming off of Clarke.

Lexa wasn’t mad or anything. In all honesty, she was trying to reign in the surprising amount of desire that pooled in her gut at the sound of Clarke’s slightly accented words _that Lexa could understand_. She was reeling at the realization that Clarke could understand her. That she could understand Clarke. Without a warning, Lexa placed a hand behind Clarke’s neck and pulled her in for another kiss.

“I’m not mad. Actually, I’m really happy I won’t have to make a fool out myself anymore,” she breathed. Clarke smiled.

“ _L’amour nous rend fous._ Love makes us fools.” Lexa nodded in agreement, but felt her heart jump at the words. Clarke realized what she had said at the same moment, and her face froze in surprise. Lexa just leaned in for yet another kiss, slower and sweeter that time, all _yes that is true_ and _I am a fool for you._

They stayed there for who knows how long, wondering if the stars had fallen from the sky and into Paris as the small lights glittered all across the city. They kissed and talked in hush tones, drank wine and nibbled on cheese. They sat with their hips touching and hands on top of one another and fell in love high above the City of Light.

**Author's Note:**

> come send me more at gostorain.tumblr.com!
> 
> or don't, it's whatever


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